Part 97 (1/2)

Long before we came in sight of Johnstown I could hear the distant quaver of the tocsin, where, on the fort, the iron bell rang ceaselessly its melancholy warning.

And after a while I saw a spire above distant woods, and the setting sun brilliant on gilt weather-vanes.

I bent over Penelope: ”We arrive,” I whispered.

One little hand stole out and drew aside the collar of the cloak; and she turned her head and saw the roofs and chimneys s.h.i.+ning red in the westering sun.

”Jack,” she said faintly.

”I listen, beloved.”

”Douw Fonda is dead.”

”Hus.h.!.+ I know it, love.”

”Douw Fonda is with G.o.d since sunrise,” she whispered.

”Yes, I know.... And many others, too, Penelope.”

She shook her head vaguely, looking up at me all the while.

”It came so swiftly.... I was still abed.... The guns awoke me.... And the blacks screaming. I ran to the window of my chamber.

”A Continental soldier was driving an army cart toward the Johnstown road. And I saw him jump out of his cart,[46] cut his traces, mount, turn his horse, and gallop down the valley.... That was the first real fear that a.s.sailed me, when I saw that soldier flee.... I went below immediately; and saw Indians near the Fisher place.... But I could not persuade Mr. Fonda to escape with me through the orchard.... He would not go, Jack--he would not listen to me or to the Bouw-Meester, who also had hold of him.

[Footnote 46: The gossipy, industrious, and diverting historian, Simms, whose account of this incident would seem to imply that Penelope Grant herself related it to him, gives a different version of her testimony.

The statement he offers is signed: ”_Mrs. Penelope Fortes. Her maiden name was Grant._” So Simms may have had it first hand.]

”And when we went into the library somebody fired through the window and hit the Bouw-Meester.... I don't know what happened to him or where he fell.... For the next moment the house was full of green-coats and savages.... They led Mr. Fonda out of the house.... An Indian killed him with a hatchet.... A green-coat took hold of me and said he meant to cut my throat for a d.a.m.ned rebel s.l.u.t! But an Indian pushed him away....

They disputed. An officer of the Indian Department came into the library and told me to go out to the orchard and escape if I was able.

”Then a Tory neighbour of ours, Joseph Clement, came in and shouted out in low Dutch: Laat de vervlukten rabble starven!'[47] ... A green-coat clubbed his musket to slay me, but the Indian officer caught the gun and called out to me: 'Run! Run, you yellow-haired s.l.u.t!'

[Footnote 47: In Valley Dutch: ”Let the accursed rebel die!”]

”But I dared not stir to pa.s.s by where Clement stood with his gun. I caught up a heavy silver candle-stick, broke the window with two blows, and leaped out into the orchard.... Clement ran around the house and I saw him enter the orchard, carrying a gun and looking for me; but I lay very still under the lilac hedge; and he must have thought I had run down to the river, for he went off that way.

”Then I got to my feet and crept up the hill.... And presently saw Mrs.

Romeyn and the children toiling up the hill; and helped her carry them.... All the morning we hid there and looked down at the burning houses.... And after a long while the firing grew more distant.

”And then--and then--_you_ came! My dear lord!--my lover.... My own lover who has come to me at last!”

AFTERMATH

I know not how it shall be with me and mine! In this year of our Lord, 1782, in which I write, here in the casemates at West Point, the war rages throughout the land, and there seems no end to it, nor none likely that I can see.